Sunday, June 14, 2015


 i replanted my great grandma compton's iris'.
these two are touching each other.
she is here with me and tilda.
my heart smiles.
 death is nothing at all. it does not count. i have only
slipped away into the next room. nothing has happened.
everything remains exactly as it was. i am i, and you are
you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is 
untouched, unchanged. whatever we were to each other,
that we are still. call me by the old familiar name. speak
of me in the easy way which you always used. put no
difference into your tome. wear no forced air of solemnity
or sorrow. laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
that we enjoyed together. play, smile, think of me, pray
for me. let it be spoken without effort, without
the ghost of a shadow upon it. life means all that it ever
meant. it is the same as it ever was. there is absolute and
unbroken continuity. what is this death but a negligible
accident? why should i be out of mind because i am out
of sight? i am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere
very near, just around the corner.
all is well.

Hattie M. Compton.
welcome to coffee hour.
welcome to this Sunday morning.
just BE.


Nonnie said...

I think it was St. Pope John Paul II who said that those who have died are only invisible to us, nevertheless they are still with us. I cling to this notion.
Your backyard beckons me to spend time there.

Tilda said...

grandma is smiling on you. not only in her iris, but your love for
rock gardens that she had also.